


Finding a pattern

by SarazelSwift



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Police, Coffee Shops, Detectives, F/F, Fluff, M/M, Nightmares, cold cases, therapist
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-22
Updated: 2018-09-22
Packaged: 2019-07-15 14:20:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16064912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SarazelSwift/pseuds/SarazelSwift
Summary: In this Police-AU Lance McClain is a proud detective plagued by nightmares. Being late to work one day ensues that Lance must organize and work cold cases. As he continues working, he uncovers something.





	Finding a pattern

**Author's Note:**

> This story is a continuation in the world I previously created. ([I can't swim](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16022498)) 
> 
> Hope you all enjoy the second one-shot in the collection!

            Lance stared at the same spot on the wall that he had the previous times he had been here. Here was Hunk Garrett’s office. His therapist. He worked over his lip. At first he had hated the chief for assigning him to therapy. He wasn’t a crazy person. He didn’t need therapy. He had treated the first few sessions as a joke. It didn’t offend Hunk in the slightest. Or if it had, Hunk had gone to good lengths at hiding it.

            Lance’s eyes slid from their spot on the wall to the clock. It was a few minutes past seven. Hunk would be here shortly. He was a creature of habit. Lance settled into the soft armchair across Hunk’s desk. The furniture no doubt had a permanent imprint of Lance’s body. He tapped on the arms impatiently. He swallowed a growing lump in his throat and dropped his head to the back of the chair. Lance closed his eyes and just breathed. He practiced long and slow breathing, attempting to curb his anxiousness.

            Something sounded on the other side of the door. _Chains clanking gently_. Lance’s eyes flew open and he shot up. He spun to face the door and had his hand on his sidearm. He watched the lock turn and eased. Lance shoved his hands in his pocket and cleared his throat as his friend entered.

            Even for the warning, Hunk jumped. “Jeez, man.” He said, with a shake of his head. He pushed the door open further and worked to pull his keys from the lock. He moved around Lance to the desk. Hunk wore khaki pants with a olive green flannel shirt, tucked into his waistband. His hair was getting long, but it was neatly combed out of his face. “Not cool.”

“I could have let you think no one was in here.” Lance shrugged turning to walk up to one of Hunk’s many bookshelves. Hunk almost scoffed as he began to set down his belongings atop the desk. “And besides, you gave me a key.”

“For watering the plants. Speaking of which, you should really give it back.” Hunk said, setting his briefcase and lunchbox down on the desk. Lance nodded thoughtfully but thumbed the key in his pocket. There was no way he was giving it back. There was no way Hunk really wanted it back anyway.

            “What are you doing here? Don’t you have to work?” Hunk asked. There was no accusation behind his words. Lance swallowed nervously again. “I do. But not for another hour.” Hunk opened a drawer and slid the lunchbox inside the desk. He straightened and turned his attention on the briefcase, popping it open. “So then why are you here?” Lance ruffled his hair and rubbed the back of his neck. “I didn’t get much sleep last night.”

“Insomnia again?”

“No, well, yes.” Hunk paused, his hands full of paperwork. He furrowed his brow at Lance. “Nightmares?” Lance could only nod.

            It was a touchy subject when Lance’s nightmares were brought up initially. Lance had always thought admitting they were real was a sign of weakness. But Hunk navigated Lance’s unwillingness to open up and eventually his nightly terrors whittled down to semi-monthly occurrences. Hunk promised that with time the nightmares may come to stop all together. Lance knew he could trust Hunk with himself. “Which one was it this time?” Lance drew his lips into a thin line. He didn’t want to recall. Hunk cleared his throat. “Lance.”

“I’m in the warehouse again.” He choked out. Hunk sighed at his admission. “I’m staring through the scope…” He shook his head, closing his eyes trying to block out the images.

            “Sit down, bud,” Hunk said softly, moving around the desk to stand beside him. He flattened his palm against the top of Lance’s shoulder. “We’ve got a bit before my 7:30 comes in.”

 

 

            Lance stretched out and returned to his sitting position. Desk Jockey. He rolled his eyes and picked up his ceramic coffee cup. He finished the cold coffee off in one long swig. “Sharpshooter.” Shiro’s voice sounded behind him. Lance smiled at the old nickname. He tossed his head back to look at the approaching detective. Shiro held two disposable coffee cups and extended one to him. “Just in time!”

            He turned and accepted the cup gratefully. “Drove yourself today?” He nodded to the black helmet and leather jacket under Shiro’s arm. Shiro nodded and began to shove his affects under his desk. It had been almost a year since Keith Shirogane drove his car into the ravine off of highway four. All because of a flat tire on Shiro’s motorbike. “What are you doing with the cold cases?”

            Lance looked to the semi-organized stacks littering his desk and the empty boxes by his feet. He shrugged. “Punishment.”

“What’d you do this time?”

“I was a little late.”

“Well that’s not so-“  
“Over an hour late.” A passing detective said, leaning in on their conversation. Lance rolled his eyes, and sourly picked up another file folder. Shiro let out a low whistle. Lance only nodded and flipped the folder open. After the passing detective was out of earshot Shiro leaned forward. “Hunk apologize for it?”

            Lance would have bristled had it been anyone else asking. But this was Shiro, a friend. He knew Lance too well to get use therapy against him. “He doesn’t know yet.” He sipped at the coffee. Hunk had forced him to stay until Lance had recalled most of his recent nightmare. He even offered to reschedule his 7:30 appointment for another time. Lance had taken his friend up on it. The two went for breakfast, Hunk’s treat. Sure he had been late to work, but perhaps he’d get to sleep that night. “You going to tell him?”

“It’s my fault, not his.” Lance said dismissively. Shiro only smiled while turning to his own work.

 

 

He tapped his fingers against the old paper of the long forgotten case file. The chief wanted Lance to organize the old case files by their chances of being solved _before_ the end of his shift. Lance looked to the clock on his computer. Ten after eight. He groaned. He had been working on this for nearly ten hours. Lance shifted in his seat, his lower back killed. Shiro was packing up. “Hey, Shiro, buddy ‘ol pal.” Shiro laughed.

“No.”

“Oh, come on. I took your cases when Keith-“ Lance trailed off, seeing Shiro’s sharp gaze. He sighed, letting his argument die. He sighed, looking at the now towering piles of folders. “I’m going to be here all night.” He whined, dropping his head to the back of the chair.

            Shiro gathered up his belongings and moved around Lance’s desk to look down on him. “You know Lance, you could just come back tomorrow morning. Chief won’t get in until eight or so.”

“I’d rather not take that chance.” He sighed. “I’ll just stay late tonight.”  
“Alright, see you tomorrow.” Shiro offered a small wave as he headed for the elevator. Lance’s gaze followed him wistfully. Going home would be nice. He looked at one of the still full boxes. With a half shrug Lance began to pack up the small pile of folders he had yet to go through and placed them into a box. “Shiro hold up!”

 

            Lance pulled into his parking lot and shut the engine off. He yawned and exited the vehicle. He pulled the two heaping boxes of case files out of the back of his old Buick. He waddled through the courtyard and into his building. His arms strained as he moved to the old elevator. Once inside the carriage he rested the boxes on the not-so-stainless-steel handle bars. He wiped the back of his hand against his brow and leaned against the boxes. The elevator stopped abruptly, causing him to lose his grip on the boxes.

            The brown boxes fell to the ground and scattered a majority of files over the scuffed floor. He groaned and fell to his knees. As Lance scooped up the nearest files, feminine hands helped gather the others. “Let me help you.” He looked up to find himself staring into the cerulean eyes of a doctor he had met before. Her nearly white hair was pulled back into a loose bun. “H-hi. Ok. Sure.” He said, happily taking the files from her slender fingers. She helped him pack the files into the boxes.

            He stacked them atop each other and straightened to stand beside her. Lance couldn’t help but to keep looking at her. “I know you don’t I?” He smiled at her, tilting his head to the side. She returned his smile and sighed. “I think so, you seem familiar.”

“Yeah, I think we’ve met. At the hospital.”

“Well I do work there.”

“That’s it. See, I’m a detective. I brought someone in about a year ago.”

“I’m sorry, I can’t recall.” Her voice was soothing. The way her words lilted made him think of someone from another country. Possibly somewhere in Europe. “I work with so many…”

            The elevator dinged. He looked away from her and sighed. “This is me.” She smiled and bent low to pick up a box. “Mind if I help you? That way you don’t drop your load again?”

“That’d be great.”

“I’m Allura. Allura Alfor.”

“Lance McClain.”

 

            Lance finished brushing his teeth and rinsed the toothbrush. Aside from the boxes still awaiting to be unpacked and organized, he felt overwhelmingly accomplished. Dr. Alfor had agreed to coffee and had even given him her card. He flicked the light off in the bathroom and moved to his bedroom. He stared at his unmade bed with dread. Lance didn’t want to sleep. Didn’t want to dream. He closed his eyes and let loose a long sigh. He could almost hear Hunk’s words.

            He couldn’t be afraid to sleep. He had to at least attempt. Lance moved to the bed and laid down, pulling blankets up over his legs. He closed his eyes and settled into the pillow. “Don’t be afraid.” He whispered quietly. “You’re just going to sleep. Recharge your batteries.” Hunk had used the trick multiple times. It had worked for him.

 

            _Chains are clinking._ No. He couldn’t be here. Not now. _Lance looked up from the rifle, Keith stood next to him, drenched from the river._ Keith wasn’t supposed to be here. _“There’s a pattern to these accidents. You know that.” A piece of silvery tape surrounded his right wrist._

 _“You can’t be talking about your accident. Look at you.”_ This nightmare happened before Shiro and Keith met. Before the two were even engaged. _Screams sounded below him. Child’s screaming. Lance’s grip tightened on the rifle. He was supposed to stop this. Salmo had killed plenty before this. If he didn’t stop this now, stop him. He was going to kill more._

 _He was running now. The rifle slung across his chest. Running down._ This wasn’t right. The warehouse was flat. _The woods, he was running downhill through the trees. Toward the sinking taillights of a newer model sedan._ Keith’s car. _Splashing in the river. He ran toward it, stumbling and scraping his palms. He reached the edge of the river shortly and plunged into the water. It was warm. Oddly warm. Lance surfaced, finding his hands covered in blood._ _A tanned feminine form stood by the edge of the river. A stack of torn and crumpled files in her arms, blood covered her hands. “Allura?”_

_“Find them.”_

Lance shot up, a thin sheen of sweat covered him. He went to move and found the action difficult. His heart began to race, panicking about his lack of movement. It took him a moment to realize he was wound tightly in his own blankets. He wormed his way out of the blankets and cast them aside, making a mental note to change his bed sheets.

            He moved to the bathroom and showered quickly. He returned to his room and pulled on a pair of plain blue sleep pants and continued to dry his hair. Lance left his room and moved to the kitchen, putting on a new pot of coffee. He tried not to look at the clock on the stove. He tried not to see that it was only four in the morning. He also tried to ignore the fact that he had to work in four hours and he had yet to go through and organize the files.

            Once the coffee had finished brewing Lance poured himself a cup and moved into the living room. He turned on the television and opted to watch old sitcom reruns over infomercials. He sorted through the first box quickly. He managed to make the piles neater on his coffee table than on his desk; perhaps in an effort to prevent minimal possibility of damage or loss to said case files. It was the last thing he needed.

            Lance lifted the lid to the second box and stared at the files. He wanted to smile, remembering Dr. Alfor’s gentle demeanor and genuine smile as she helped him gather the files from the floor of the elevator. Instead he remembered the bloodstained maiden standing at the edge of the river, clutching the files to her chest protectively. “ _Find them._ ” He shook his head and dropped the lid back on top of the box. It bounced and landed at his feet. Lance clenched his jaw tight and pushed the palms of his hands into his eyes. His phone rang. He paused, listening for it to come again. He moved back to his bedroom and fished out his phone. Nearly dead. He rolled his eyes and tapped at the screen. “Hello?”

“Is this Lance McClain?”

            The voice belonged to Allura. He pulled the phone away and looked at the time. Nearly seven-thirty; he ground his teeth. “This is.” He replied, keeping his irritation from his voice. “Hello Lance, this is Allura Alfor.”

“Hey Allura, thanks for calling.”

“I’m just calling to make sure that we were getting coffee?”

“Absolutely.”

 

            He pushed the door open and scanned the coffee shop. It was a quaint, hole in the wall type shop. The walls were brick and mortar but the decorations were modern. Warm, white string lights lined the ceiling. They cast a warm aura about Dr. Alfor, almost making her hair glow. He smiled at her as she waved.

            She had procured a table. He approached and shucked off his jacket. “Lance, I was worried you weren’t coming.” He shrugged, “And stand you up? I wouldn’t dream of it.” She stood and greeted him with a hug. He happily accepted her greeting. She was warm and smelled like amber. He pulled away, noticing the scrubs. She was most likely on her way to work as well. “I hope this wasn’t out of the way for you?” Allura gave him a sheepish grin.

“No, no worries. If ever I’m running late, I can just run the cherry on top of my car.”

            They ordered their coffee and continued to wait in slow silence. “I hope you don’t mind my being so forward about coffee.” Allura said quietly, leaning in slightly. Lance’s smile returned. “I’m not offended in the least. If I’m being completely honest, I was going to ask you a year ago but…” He shrugged. “I got busy.” He noted the slight blush that crossed the tip of her nose. “I understand you, things aren’t exactly dull around here.”

            Their coffee arrived and they took to the cups. “So, Allura, why were you in my building. Spiffy doctor like you, I imagine that you’d live somewhere ritzier.” She finished drinking and waved a hand at him. “I was visiting my uncle.”

“Your uncle?” He asked over the rim of his cup. She nodded and set hers down.

“My uncle, Coran. He works in the hospital. Actually helped me get my job when I moved here a few years ago.”

“Where are you from?”

“Small town called Altea. Hardly anyone knows of it. Even when you’re from England.” She laughed and gave the slightest shake of her head. Something was wrong. She was hiding something, a bitterness almost.

            “What made you want to move?” He watched for more tics in her behavior. She cocked her head to the side in thought. “Well, I read in an article somewhere that there were really too many openings and just not enough doctors.”  
“No family to keep you tied down? You just left?” Her eyelashes flicked quickly as she attempted to blink away his question. “Well, no,” She cleared her throat. “I’m.” She paused. He had struck a nerve. “You don’t have to-“

“Oh, it’ll come out eventually.” Allura said quietly, gazing down into her coffee cup. “I’m an orphan, my parents died when I was a chld.”

            He dropped his head down and ran his fingers through his hair. “Ah hell,” He muttered, “I’m sorry-“

“Oh don’t be. Really.” She said looking up at him now. “I’m assuming we’ll have coffee some other time. It was bound to come out. Please, I don’t want you to feel bad.” He almost chuckled. It took a lot to truly make him feel bad. As much as he wanted it to, this situation didn’t even breach the list. Lance had consoled mothers, wives, sisters. He had told children their fathers werne’t coming home. “I’ll try not to.” He offered her a genuine smile. “But coffee again?”

“If you don’t mind.” She began before the quick beeping of a pager went off. She deflated.

            Lance watched her pull a small black pager from her waistband. “Gotta go?” He raised a brow to her. She nodded slowly as she stood. “I’m so sorry to have to do this.” She apologized. Lance stood and smiled to her. “Don’t be sorry. We’re busy people.” She wrapped an arm around his shoulders and pressed herself close to him. He hugged her gently and released her as soon as she pulled away. “Some other time then?”

“Absolutely.” He said.

“Call me later? I’m done at nine.” Lance nodded as she walked away. As much as he wanted to stay and watch her leave, he knew he needed to get to work.

 

           

 

            The drive home was silent. He was in no mood for music. Lance drove with the window down, feeling the cool breeze in his hair. Rain was coming. He couldn’t help but to chew on the side of his thumb while he drove. He wasn’t ready to go home. He didn’t want to sleep just yet. He had to figure out the disconnect between the cases. They had to be connected. He was sure of it.

He looked up at the street light, finding the street sign. Lance smiled at the irony. He was on Hunk’s street. If anyone could help him find the issue in his theory, it would be Hunk. After another minute Lance found himself in Hunk’s parking lot. He grabbed up the file folder and scurried to the side door. He made his way upstairs and down the long hall quickly. He sidled up to Hunk’s door and looked at his wristwatch. It was late, hopefully Hunk would answer.

Lance tapped his foot impatiently. After another minute of waiting he was going to fish out Hunk’s spare key. Heavy footfalls sounded inside, nearing the door. The deadbolt unlocked and the knob turned revealing a quite disheveled Hunk. “Lance?” He asked quietly, stifling a yawn.

“You busy?”

“Uh, yeah. A bit.” Lance drew his lips into a thin line and ruffled his hair. “I wanted to have you look over a file for me. There’s something I’m missing.”

“Now?”

            He begrudgingly let go of the door knob and accepted the folder. Lance watched him anxiously. Hunk wore dark grey sweats and a plain white t-shirt. The pants were inside out and the shirt was backwards. He peered past him into the apartment. No lights. He blinked multiple times, attempting to debunk the form he watch slink from the hall where the bathroom was and into Hunk’s bedroom. “Hunk, you alone tonight?”

“What- oh yeah.”

“Can you come out here.”

“Why?”

            “Just do it.” He said quietly, pulling Hunk into the hallway. Lance withdrew his sidearm and moved past Hunk. Despite the protests, Lance pushed up against the wall outside the bedroom. “What the heck man. Put that away!” He hissed, “What’s wrong with you?”

“Someone moved into your bedroom while you were distracted with me.” He afforded a glance back to Hunk, finding his friends eyes had widened. “Whoa, Lance. Hold on.” He pulled Lance back, shoving the folder into his chest. “Hunk!” He sighed and turned his head to call inside his room. “You should probably come out now.”

**Author's Note:**

> All apologies if the story didn't seem to focus much on the police work aspect. This is more of a fluff piece. There will be continuation of this particular plot line in another story.... er. chapter?... from Hunk's POV! And we'll all find out who the mystery guest in Hunk's apartment is!  
> Don't forget to leave a kudos or a comment or a comment as a kudos! Thanks for reading!


End file.
